


float, flicker, soar to the top

by staubfingers



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Hogwarts Hospital Wing, M/M, Missing Scenes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:20:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23203849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staubfingers/pseuds/staubfingers
Summary: If anyone had told eleven years old Harry Potter, that Draco Malfoy will visited him every time he has to stay in the Hospital Wing overnight, he would have probably only laughed and declared them crazy.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 14
Kudos: 254





	float, flicker, soar to the top

**Author's Note:**

> I re-watched the first three films and was hit so hard by my Drarry-feels, that I had to write something. There is probably at least one time Harry had to stay in the Hospital Wing missing, because the poor boy practically lived there, but whatever, it fits the general canon and I was too lazy to reread everything.  
> Go ahead, have fun with this silly, little “Harry and Draco totally talked to each other in secret all the time”-fic.  
> (Title is from _Pretty Little Head_ by _Eliza Rickman_  
>  (Beware, I only learned English in school, so a lot of mistakes ahead.)

Harry's head throbs, his arms and legs are aching, and it's an effort to even breath. Vaguely aware he's not quite awake he tries to open his eyes, but the lids are just too heavy. Suddenly the pictures of what happened come back ( _the Stone, Voldemort. Professor Quirrell turning to dust under his touch_ ) and he starts to gasp, and tries to sit up, but another hand touches his shoulder and pushes him down gently.

Finally able to open his eyes Harry looks at the hand on his shoulder and follows the arm to distinctive set of blonde hair.

“It's alright,” the boy who looks like Malfoy, and who definitely _isn't_ Malfoy, says.

Harry opens his mouth to protest, but before he's able to get a word out, he feels himself being pulled back into the darkness of a dreamless sleep.

-

Breaking your arm hurts, but having all the bones of said arm _removed,_ and then being forced to grow them back, is the worst pain Harry has ever been in. And he has been in a lot of pain.

He's gritting his teeth and tries to think about the moment he caught the snitch and won the match, when he hears footsteps coming closer. Madam Pomfrey checks on him every two hours, every time refusing to give him a potion against the pain, saying she doesn't have one, since this kind of _accident_ hardly ever happens. Harry is pretty sure that there is one, though, and that she's just keeping it from him for whatever reason, or that Snape would at least be able to brew something, but since it's Harry who's in pain he denies the existence of such potion. No matter what the reason is, he is angry, and in pain, and utterly helpless and he keeps his eyes closed to not let her see any of this.

“How does it feel, Potter?” a hissing voice whispers right into his ear.

Immediately, he sits upright in his bed, hitting Draco bloody Malfoy's nose with his shoulder in that process.

“Ouch, watch out-”

“What are you doing here, Malfoy?” he asks furiously. He doesn't want to be seen like this, especially not by this git.

“Just checking on you. Trying to be nice once and you break my nose,” Malfoy grumbles.

“It was you, wasn't it!” And it's only the fact that his arm is utterly useless, that keeps Harry from jumping out of his bed to punch that stupid, arrogant face.

“What was me? You have to start using complete sentences, how is anyone supposed to understand-”

“You hexed the bludger!”

“Why would I do that?”

“Why? Because you wanted to win the game, and if everything went _well_ you would have got me killed!”

Malfoy shakes his head and _huffs,_ which only makes Harry even angrier, “If you'd paid attention you would have realized, that I was hurt by the bludger, too.”

“I never said you're good in what you're doing-”

“Oh, believe me, if I wanted you dead, we wouldn't be talking right now.”

“Sure, so you actually didn't want to win the match, since you get everything you want, right?”

Satisfied Harry sees Malfoy biting down on his lip, looking even more defeated than this afternoon when it was Harry who caught the snitch and not him. “Whatever, it still wasn't me.”

And he believes him, even if it's just for the fact, that he doesn't take Malfoy for a particularly good wizard who'd be able to pull a hex like this. “So, who else did it then?”

“How am I supposed to know, Potter? You don't seem to be aware of it, but you're not really the most liked person,” Malfoy says looking smudged.

“Still liked enough to be visited in the middle of the night. What brings me back to the question: what are you doing here?”

“Oh, forget it, Potter,” and for a second it seems like Malfoy will stomp his foot on the floor like a child, “I don't waste my time with someone who doesn't appreciate me.”

And as fast as he came into the room he disappears again. For a moment Harry only stares baffled at the door Malfoy just went through, trying to process what the hell just happened.

It's not long until a falls into a restless sleep, one that will be disturbed by another visitor no hour later.

-

This time he isn't even surprised when he wakes up in the middle of the night, and sees Malfoy standing next to his bed. “Go away,” he grumbles, and closes his eyes again. He feels utterly defeated, the loss of the match and his broom seemed to have left aching hole in his stomach, his cheeks are burning in shame.

“How are you feeling?” And it really sounds _worried_.

“Oh, sod off, Malfoy,” Harry growls, opening his eyes again, “I know, I pathetically fainted, fell of my broom, you spent the evening laughing about me. Haha. Want to do another impression of a Dementor? Won't be any funnier than the last time, but whatever, do what you have to do and then _sod off!”_

For the first time in two years he sees Malfoy speechless. He's just standing there, only dressed in nice, expansive looking pyjamas and his school-robe, and closes and opens his mouth without getting a word out.

“Yeah, whatever,” he closes his eyes again and rolls to his side, so that Malfoy only gets a look at the back of his head.

“I'm sorry about your broom.”

It's nearly inaudible and for a few seconds Harry thinks he only imagined it, but no, it's so absurd he'd never think of that himself. “You're what?” he asks, still facing the other direction.

“Don't make me repeat it, Potter! You deserved to lose the match, even though the circumstances were rather...” he speaks nearly hesitantly, like he isn't sure whether he wants to say those words or not, ”Well, but your broom getting trashed... I know how it feels, the freedom of flying on a good broom, one that's truly _yours_ , like it's a part of you. And when you're in the air and just go faster and higher, everything else disappears- Having that taken away from you is just unfair. And I'm- I... whatever, just...”

It's exactly how it feels, and it's good to finally have someone understand the pain of losing not just his broom, but losing the _freedom_ it meant. Sure, Ron, Hermione, and the team-members tried to, but Harry wasn't able to put the utter despair into words like Malfoy did.

“How do you...” he asks, turning to face Malfoy again, but he already gone.

-

“You fought a dragon, Potter!”

“I know, I was there,” Harry mumbles half asleep.

“Clever, to use your broom. You wouldn't have stood a chance otherwise,” Malfoy says practically beaming.

“And I lasted longer than five minutes.”

“You're welcome.”

“I'm...? What?” Harry spent his day worried sick he'd be eaten by a dragon and his afternoon being chased by said dragon, and now Draco Malfoy is disturbing his well earned sleep. Again. He just wants to be someone else.

“I motivated you!” Malfoy announces, still grinning.

“You...? What?” He blames it on the lack of sleep that he's not able to come up with a better answer.

“Oh, come on, don't act like me taunting you isn't a constant motivation to do better.”

Harry only shakes his head, “Malfoy, I had a long day, it's in the middle of the night, you don't make any sense, just let me sleep.”

“Scoot over,” Malfoy _orders,_ and before Harry can protest he sits down on the bed, facing Harry and legs outstretched, so that his feet are nearly lying on Harry's stomach.

“What the hell, Malfoy,” Harry hisses and sits up himself to get as much space between his nose and Malfoy's naked feet (the git even took the time to toe his shoes off!), confused what exactly is just happening.

“It's rather rude to let your visitor stand all the time.”

“You're not my visitor, you're... you're a burglar!”

“Burglar, really? Couldn't come up with anything better?”

“Besides, I fought a dragon and got the stupid egg, because I _had to_ and because I _practised_ for weeks, not because you told me I wouldn't make it!” Ron is still not talking to him, he has two more, possibly lethal, tasks ahead of him, he's the only champion who was forced to stay the night in the Hospital Wing, and now Malfoy sits on his bed, and tells him he just succeeded because of him. His skin nearly burns in anger and exhaustion.

“So, you still stick with the story of someone putting your name into the Goblet?” Malfoy asks and sounds sincerely curious. Harry wants to kick him off his bed.

“You really think I _wanted_ to be part of that? They locked me into a cage with a _dragon_!”

“Of course you _wanted_ the attention, you're always-”

“You really think I try to get myself killed for attention?” he nearly shouts now and forces himself to lower his voice, so that he doesn't wake Madame Pomfrey, “Just because you would have done that you shouldn't think everyone else is so _desperate_.”

“Maybe not everyone, but be honest with yourself, you _love_ to be the hero. When you have saved the day once again and everyone is cheering, and is looking at you, and they all just want to be like you. Tell your friends you hate that, but I have seen you after you won a match, the look in your eyes, you _Love. It.”_ Malfoy emphasises the last two words, smile on his face.

Harry wants to deny it, he never wanted the attention, never wanted to be someone special, but he remembers the feeling when he got the egg today and everyone just went crazy, when the whole Gryffindor House shouted his name just like they did whenever he had caught the snitch and won a Quidditch match. It _was_ a great feeling, but he has never _asked_ for it. “I didn't put my name into the Goblet.”

“Perhaps,” Malfoy says and smiles like he won something, maybe he did, “but you and I, we are more alike than you think.”

Fighting with Malfoy was always easy: he said something to make Harry angry, Harry insulted him back, but this, this is hard. He doesn't know what Malfoy is trying to achieve here, why he comes into the Hospital Wing every time Harry is forced to spend the night, why he's sitting on his bed and is talking to him like they're not _hating_ each other. Shaking his head he only says, “We're nothing alike, Malfoy.”

“Yes we are. We want to be respected, be the best at everything that is important to us.”

“So, that is why you try to make my time here a living-hell? Because I'm better at Quidditch?”

“You're hardly _better,_ you just had luck. And like I said, don't act like my taunting doesn't motivate you.”

“Your t- Malfoy you spread 'Potter stinks'-badges around the school, you _insult_ me, my friends and our families all the time, you-”

“Buhu, like you don't insult _my_ family,” Malfoy says and is still _calm._ Harry doesn't remember ever talking to him for so long without either of them starting to shout.

“You have started it!”

“How old are you? Four? Come on, that argument is shit.”

“Yeah? Whatever, you're just a git, Malfoy. You're rude, you're mean, you hurt everyone who's weaker, and kiss the ass of anyone who's above you, and I hate your guts.”

“Nah, you don't,” Malfoy says smiling and Harry just wants to tell him, that _yes, he does,_ but Malfoy continues, “And you like our little rivalry as much as I do, but if you hate it that much I'll stop _insulting_ you and your friends.”

Not able to comprehend what Malfoy just said, Harry only blinks.

“Shouldn't you say 'I won't either'?” Malfoy states, raising an eyebrow.

“I won't either,” he answers slowly.

“Good,” Malfoy and hops off the bed, “Was great to talk to you, Potter, and don't be too smug with facing a dragon, and getting a golden egg, and all that.” He puts his shoes back on and leaves the room without looking back once.

Harry is still blinking in confusion.

-

Strangely enough Malfoy stays true to his word. Sure, he's still an insufferable, arrogant git, but he doesn't say one bad word to Harry, Ron (who is thankfully talking to him again) or Hermione. At first Harry is sure Malfoy won't be able to keep it up, but months pass and he stays... not _nice-nice_ but _nicer_ than ever. Ron and Hermione notice the change too, and when they ask Harry if something _happened,_ he only shrugs, says he doesn't know why Malfoy suddenly is this way, either.

He doesn't want to tell them about all the times Malfoy visited him at night. Not telling them after the first time, when he still thought it was only a dream, wasn't too bad, but it felt so _private_ , talking with Malfoy like this, and telling them _now_ would be strange. Like he wanted to hide it from them, like he had a _reason_ to. And he doesn't, he just doesn't want to talk about these weird encounters.

A week before the third task Malfoy blows up his cauldron. He looked somehow disfigured when Snape brought him to Madam Pomfrey, and when he doesn't show up at dinner Harry gets... no, he doesn't get _worried,_ he's just curious how Malfoy is doing.

At night he lies awake, the picture of Malfoy's strange looking face still on his mind. After a few hours he gives in, takes the map and his cloak and sneaks off into the Hospital Wing.

Malfoy is awake when he enters the room, visible once again, and he wonders whether the old wooden-door's squeaking has woken him up or whether he couldn't fall asleep either.

“Thought, you forgot about me,” he says grinning, as soon as Harry stands next to his bed.

“Your face looks good again,” Harry notices and wants to hit himself as soon as the words left his mouth.

“Ahh Potter, you like my face!” Malfoy is grinning, unbelievably brighter than before.

“Oh, shut up, I meant it looks _normal_ again, and since you're not really good at _anything_ it'd be really hard for you, if you'd be disfigured on top of it.”

“I appreciate you worrying over my good looks, but it was half as bad, I'm just staying for the improbable case of the healing potion having side-effects.”

Harry nods, not knowing what to do with his hands (What is he doing with them normally? Are his arms always hanging uselessly on his body?), and wishes he just stayed in his bed.

“Are you nervous?” Malfoy asks suddenly.

“Huh?”

“The third task, are you nervous about it?”

Harry sighs and sits down on the bed next to Malfoy's, who turns to his side and props his head in his hand. “Yes, I think so.”

“You have to win this,” Malfoy says and bits down on his lip, “You or Diggory, you have to win for Hogwarts.”

“For Hogwarts, huh,” Harry grins, “What happened to 'Potter stinks'?”

“Like I said, you or Diggory, I couldn't stand Krum or DeLacour winning after being _incompetent_ at best at the first two task.”

Harry laughs, “I'll try my best.”

“You love winning, Potter, just like I said.”

“Just because I did a _fantastic_ job in the first two task, I deserve it.”

“Yes, you totally do,” Malfoy says and smiles.

And Harry doesn't remember ever seeing him that carefree and... _happy._ Without really wanting to he smiles back. It's no ten seconds later when he realizes what he's doing: he's sitting on Draco Malfoy's bed, while fucking _smiling_ at him like a-

“I have to go,” he says and is back on his feet and out of the room, before he can give any more thought into why he's looking at Malfoy that way.

-

After everyone left Harry is finally alone with himself and the memories. Voldemort is back, he saw his parents, Moody was an imposer, Cedric is _dead._ He sees him die all over again, hates himself for persuading him to grab the cup together. He should have been selfish, he _wanted_ to win this alone, why couldn't he just do it, why couldn't he give a damn about what is the right thing to do for _once._

“ _Take my body with you.”_ Cedric's voice echoes in his head, and his father screams. _“Why? My boy! My boy!”_

Yes, why? Voldemort didn't even care for Cedric, this was all about Harry, he should have been dead, his lifeless body should lie on that graveyard, not-

“Potter,” a low voice says and a hand touches his shoulder.

He jerks back, opens his eyes, only now realizing a stream of tears is running from them. Angrily he whips them away.

“Potter, I-”

“I saw your father.”

Malfoy hesitates, then nods.

“He's back and your father was there.”

“Pot- Harry, I-”

“Did you know? That this would happen? That the cup was a-”

“What? No, of course not! I would never have-”

“You wouldn't, like your father wouldn't?”

“Please, I beg-” And he looks pleading. Draco Malfoy stands next to his bed, _pleading,_ mere hours after his father tried to killed him. Harry feels sick.

“Just go, Malfoy,” Harry interrupts him, before he can say anything else, make Harry hate him any less.

And Malfoy does. He doesn't even pause, just runs out of the room.

Harry wants to shout after him, plead with him to come back, to not leave him alone like everyone else did. He keeps his mouth shut.

-

Professor McGonagall sees his hand, when he's too occupied with getting the bird in front of him transformed into a cushion, and forgets about hiding it in his sleeve.

“Go to Madam Pomfrey,” she says, and for the first time Harry is glad to be sent there, since it will get him away from the pained, angry look in McGonagall's eyes.

Hermione did her best, but his hand is constantly throbbing, even though his _dentition_ was three days ago. Madam Pomfrey scolds him for not coming sooner, says his hand is infected and this way it will be at least one more day until it's fully healed. He bits his tongue, not wanting to admit he didn't want to give Umbridge the _satisfaction_ of him asking for help, and the way Pomfrey smilies sadly tells him she probably gets it.

Despite her words his hand hurts considerably less as soon as he walks out of her door, and he's so absorbed in that unusual pleasant feeling, that he nearly runs into Malfoy who's lurking in the corridor.

“How is the hand doing?” he asks and if Harry wouldn't know better he'd say Malfoy looks worried.

“Sod off,” he only answers and walks past him.

“Come on, Potter, stop ignoring me.” Malfoy is following him, Harry only speeds up.

“What do you want? Make me tell you some secrets you can go to Umbridge with?”

“Really, that's why you're angry?”

“That's-” he stops in his tracks and this time it's Malfoy who nearly runs into him, “Of course I'm angry that you're working for this monster!”

“Don't you think you're a little bit dramatic?” Malfoy huffs and Harry feels the anger bowl up in him, like it always seems to do these days.

“She _tortures_ us, and you help her. No, I don't think I'm _dramatic_!”

“Stop screaming like this, Potter, you don't know who's listening!”

And before Harry can protest Malfoy grabs his arm and pulls him into an empty classroom. When the door falls close behind them, he shakes him off, and Malfoy hisses, “What kind of choice do I have, Potter, huh? And you could for once, just for _once,_ follow the rules and _not_ get into trouble!”

“Oh, you don't have a choice, you poor thing!”

“Then tell me Potter, what am I supposed to do? Join your little secret club? Oh no, Slytherins are not allowed, are they?”

“You don't really want to blame it on me that you're working for her, do you? You just love having power over everybody else!” How can anyone be that self-righteous? He feels his hands trembling in anger and he has to _force_ himself to not pull his wand out and just hex Malfoy.

“Stop telling yourself everyone has a choice! So you _chose_ to be the Boy Who Lived, it was your _choice_ to not work for Umbridge, and it had nothing to do with the fact, that the Ministry has this agenda against you,” Malfoy spits out and laughs mockingly.

“You can't compare that!”

“Why not? I didn't choose to be a Malfoy, but I have to be one. I have to marry some pure-blood girl, work for the Ministry in one way or another, have at least one son or the name dies. These aren't _my choices,_ Potter! So tell me, how am I supposed to say no, when they ask me to work for them, if that's what I'm going to do in a few years anyway.”

Harry shakes his head, not wanting to hear any more stupid excuses. “Just don't do it if you hate it so much. And stop pretending like someone makes you be a giant asshole, that is all your doing!”

“You really don't get it, do you? It's not that easy, I couldn't say _no,_ even if I wanted to.”

“Why? Because of your father? Is that-”

“Yes,” Malfoy interrupts him and groans in what sounds like frustration, “You were on that graveyard, you know what... Whatever, I shouldn't have talked to you.”

He suddenly turns around, ready to leave, and following an instinct Harry stops him by taking hold of his arm, “Is your father forcing you? You can get help, you-”

“Merlin, you really are that naïve, aren't you? Didn't you listen? We don't have a saying in this, you and me neither.”

“This is not true,” Harry says, shaking his head.

“I'm going to go now, Potter,” Malfoy only answers and Harry just realizes, that he's still clutching his arm. He lets go of it immediately.

“I-I don't know what I'm supposed to say here,” he admits.

Malfoy shrugs, “I'm glad your hand is better,” and then he leaves the room.

Harry feels like there was something he was _supposed_ to say, he just doesn't know what it was.

-

He doesn't want to visit, and Malfoy probably doesn't deserve to after _what he did._ He lies awake for hours, asking himself this one question all over again: Did he know what damage the spell would cause. _No,_ he tells himself every time, but there is this little voice saying that he wouldn't have cared if he knew in that moment, either. So it's mostly shame and the certainty that Malfoy is responsible for the indirect attacks on Dumbledore keeping him from going to the Hospital Wing.

Of course, in the end, after twisting and turning in his bed for hours, he still goes. Deep down he knew he wouldn't be able to stay away, not just out of guilt, but for the sake of their _tradition_ (or whatever this is) as well.

When he reaches the big entrance door he hesitates for a few seconds, scared of what he'll find in there. He takes a few deep breaths, puts the cloak and map away and enters.

Malfoy looks impossibly worse than a few hours ago. The blood is gone, but his face is unnaturally pale and gaunt, and if Harry didn't see the slow rise and fall of Malfoy's chest he'd be sure he's standing in front of a dead body. Malfoy doesn't open his eyes either, and Harry debates for a few seconds whether he should wake him, or just go back to his dorm, when Malfoy whispers nearly inaudible, “Gonna just stand there and look all night?”

Harry's throat feels weirdly dry and he has to cough before he's able to speak, “How- how are you feeling?”

“Like someone sliced me up.”

Flinching he says, “I'm sorry, Malfoy. I didn't want to do this. I-I didn't know what this spell would do, I just...” He stops, not really knowing what is he supposed to say here, how you apologize for something inexcusable.

“It's alright,” Malfoy mumbles and finally opens his eyes, “Tried to do worse, so I think we're even.”

And this is not what Harry expected to hear, but he's feels his shoulders sink in relief. “Listen Malfoy,” he says and sinks down on the bed, remembering the night nearly two years ago, when he did the same, ”We need to get you help.”

“Potter, I-” Malfoy interrupts, but Harry ignores him.

“You don't want to do this, I understand that you're scared, but believe me we can protect you. We'll go to Dumbledore and he'll take you to a safe place-”

“Potter!” Malfoy says this time more forcefully and sits up slowly, “There is really nothing I need help with, I'm fine, and I would appreciate it if you and your saviour-complex just-”

“Fuck you! Just fuck you and _stop_ pretending like everything is fine. I was with you in that bathroom this morning, if you have forgotten about it, so don't treat me like I haven't _seen_ how bad you are.”

“Uh, because you know me so well, since you followed me around like a creep this whole year!” Malfoy spits out, his cheek gaining some colour in his anger.

“And I was right, wasn't I? You're a Death Eater! You tried to kill Dumbledore! You nearly-”

“So why don't you tell him, if you got it all figured out, Potter, why not have me arrested?”

 _I tried, no one believes me_ , he nearly announces, but thinks better of it. Instead he takes a few calmly breaths and says, “I want to help you.” And in that moment it feels so true, that he's surprised himself.

“Why? If you really think I did all these things, that I still want to do them, why help me?” It's barley more than a whisper and Harry has the unreasonable desire to get closer to Malfoy.

“I-” he thinks about it for a few moments, before he continues, “I just know you don't want to do this, and you- you have a choice. You haven't really done anything, but if you get through with whatever you're supposed to do, there won't be any going back.” Following an instinct he takes Malfoy's hand into his own. For a second it seems like Malfoy'll pull it away, but then he squeezes.

“I can't, Potter, this is not just about me, my parents-”

“We can protect them!” he affirms, glad he finally got somehow through.

“The world really _is_ that easy for you, isn't it,” Malfoy huffs humourlessly.

“What do you mean?”

“You really think, that you can just fix everything if you want to. Let me tell you something, for everyone who isn't the damn Chosen One it's _not_ that easy! We don't just get everything handed on a golden plate, because-”

“Really-” Harry interrupts him and pulls his hand away in anger, “you want to tell me something about getting everything handed on a golden plate?”

“You are so unbelievable self-righteous, Potter! Walz in here with this _attitude_ and telling me how _easy_ everything is, when you obviously don't have a _fucking_ clue about what is going on!”

“Then tell me!” Harry nearly shouts, all the anger he felt towards Malfoy ever since he broke his nose in the train is back with full force, “Tell me what other reason there is to refuse to get any help besides you wanting to kill every _Blood-Traitor_ like you always said you would.”

Malfoy shakes his head and nearly laughs, _laughs_ , “No one will help me, Potter! Not your precious Dumbledore, none of your little friends, no one! I thought by now you would have understood it: this is not about us! And it's definitely not about _me_! If I don't... I'll get killed, my family gets killed, and someone else takes my place. So it doesn't matter what I'll do, I can only try to save my own skin.”

Before Harry can start shouting a series of swearwords he sees the _look_ in Malfoy's eyes. He isn't smug or proud like he was in that train a few month ago he's _scared_. Fuck, and Harry doesn't want to have any sympathy, Malfoy just admitted that he's _Death Eater,_ but he imagines someone threatening to kill Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Only the thought makes him shudder. Of course, he would talk to them, they'd find a way, he wouldn't... He shakes his head, trying to get rid of this horrible picture of his friend being dead because of him. “I'll help you.”

“Why? Why do you want to help me so bad?”

Yes, why? For a moment he wants to say _'because I like_ _you, at least when we're alone',_ but bites onto his tongue, instead he replies, “Because... I don't want you to kill anyone.”

“You don't want me to kill Dumbledore,” Malfoy corrects.

“No, not anyone. You're not- fuck, your not a _killer_ ; Malfoy.”

He starts to shake at that, ever so slightly, that Harry wouldn't even have noticed if they weren't so close. Fighting the weird instinct to put his arms around Malfoy and _hug_ him he says, “I'll go back to bed, before Pomfrey catches me in here, and you think about this, and come to me as soon as you out of here. I can help you, you and your family, I promise.”

Nodding Malfoy raises his hand, and for a moment Harry is sure he'll touch _his face_ , but before it's too close Malfoy lets its sink again and says, “Good night, Potter.”

“Good night, Malfoy.”

-

It's nearly morning and he doesn't want to go home, well, he doesn't even know where _home_ is supposed to be, so he stays in the ruined castle. He isn't the only one, the Weasleys are still here, gathered around Fred's lifeless body, hugging and crying and looking entirely defeated. And this is how Harry feels himself: defeated. It doesn't matter that he killed Voldemort, that so many other Death Eaters died or were caught, the loss is just too damn high. Whenever he tries to think about everyone who died tonight he forgets some of them, because they are _so many._

After what feels like an eternity of sitting between Ron and Hermione and just feeling them next to him, being glad they are _alive_ , the pain of seeing all these dead people gets too much and he excuses himself, not knowing where he's supposed to go. He wanders aimlessly through the corridors and hallways that once felt like home, chasing the feeling of content he felt a few hours ago despite of the knowledge that everything would end tonight, one way or another.

Finally he stops in the Hospital Wing, or what is left of it. A large part of the outer wall is missing, and rubble lies where the long row of beds normally was. He wants to leave again when he spots a tall, blonde figure standing close to the edge of the broken down floor.

“Malfoy,” he says surprised, only now realizing he didn't know whether Malfoy survived.

He turns around, looking healthy and alive, and Harry walks through the room without really thinking about it, and as soon as he reached him puts his arms around Malfoy.

At first it's awkward, and Harry wants to let ago again, not sure why he did in in first place, but then Malfoy hugs him back, and it's real, and not everyone is dead.

“Haven't thought I'd ever say it, but I'm glad to see you, Potter,” Malfoy whispers, still holding on to him.

“Yeah, me too.”

-

The eighth year is strange. Not just because Harry can't quiet grasp the fact, that no one trying to kill him is on the loose, but because everyone is rather _nice_ to each other. The house rivalry still exists, but it's more playful, like the previous year taught them that there are more important things than solely identifying with your house affiliation. Well, being tortured and nearly killed probably does that. It's still not perfect, but it's _something_ , and it helps to mend the invisible wounds they all got during that year.

Without Horcruxes and Hollows on his mind Harry has time to study for his N.E.W.T.s, and it might even be fun, if he wasn't scared to fail all of them (Hermione's constant reminder how _hard_ the tests are supposed to be doesn't help either). Turns out without the _Half-Blood Prince's_ book he's hopelessly overstrained with the potions lessons, and it's only thanks to Slughorn's liking in him that he isn't kicked out. Unfortunately his cauldron explodes and spills some nasty slime on him one morning just two month into the semester. At least that's what he's told when he wakes up a few hours later in the Hospital Wing.

At night he is unable to fall asleep again, and he spends the long hours with ignoring the voice in his head telling him he _wants_ to be awake in case he gets a _visitor._ In the end he nearly falls asleep, disappointed, when the doors finally open.

“Really Potter,” Malfoy declares amused, “I thought the whole point of us being friendly now was that we _don't_ get ourself into Hospital Wing just to talk to each other.”

Smiling, Harry sits up and puts his glasses back on, just as Malfoy lets himself sink down on his bed. “How are feeling?”

“Good. Tired. Had to wait the whole night for someone to show up.”

“So you waited for me?” Malfoy says grinning, but still sounding slightly unsure.

“Of course,” Harry answers, “Like you said, only came here to meet you.”

If he didn't know it better he'd say Malfoy turns slightly red at this, that he doesn't know what to say. “Speechless, Malfoy? Wow, if I had only known it's that easy a few years ago.”

He looks downright _nervous_ now, even bites into his bottom-lip and Harry just _stares._ “You mean it?” he asks eventually.

“What?” Harry answers confused.

“That... you came here, because you wanted to see me.”

“No, I didn't nearly killed myself on purpose,” Harry says slightly laughing, and when a hurt look flashes over Malfoy's face he adds, “Still glad you're here, though.”

For a moment Malfoy beams like a child, before his the look on his face goes back to a nearly expressionless mask, only to start smiling again a few seconds later. Harry feels his stomach turn warm in anticipation of _something,_ and without really thinking about it, he plants his hand on Malfoy's thigh. It's warm and muscular, even through the thin fabric of his trousers, and Harry just wants to pull them down and feel the skin.

Like this was the sign Malfoy waited for he comes closer, until his lips are only mere inches from Harry's own. “Alright?” he asks and Harry nods before closing the distance between them.

Feeling Draco Malfoy's lip on his own is nothing Harry ever expected to happen, but after he fully realizes that is _real,_ he puts his other hand on Malfoy neck to pull him impossibly closer. It's _fantastic._

“Finally,” Malfoy mumbles against his lips, when they're forced apart to catch their breaths, and Harry can't stop himself from asking mockingly, “Really? How long?”

“Fourth year,” it's nearly inaudible.

“Really?!” Harry exclaims so loud, that Malfoy puts his hand onto is mouth.

“Shh, wanna wake the whole castle?”

He shakes his head, smiling into the hand.

“Shouldn't have told you.”

Harry kisses the fingers pressed to his lips, before mumbling against them, “Well, now everything makes a lot more sense.”

It's the first time in a nearly eight-year-tradition of nightly visits in the Hospital Wing, that Madam Pomfrey catches them. An has passed hour and they're still, kissing and whispering, and Harry can't even begin to care.

  
  



End file.
